


Throw Your Heart Over

by blackchaps



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Archery, Asgard, Coulson's not dead, Deaf Clint, Guilt, M/M, Tahiti is a place, Violence, alternating pov, not AoS compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of New York, Clint is despondent and makes a choice that might seem fool-hardy. Coulson isn't happy, not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throw Your Heart Over

*********

Clint saw it coming. He wasn't an idiot. He knew the drill, and he didn't blame them. There was plenty of guilt to go around in his head, and he wasn't going to lay any of this crap at their feet.

"After Loki is gone, report to me, Hawkeye," Fury said.

"Why are we waiting, sir?" Clint was only curious, not concerned. "I've already been tried and convicted. Let's get it over with."

"I don't like pissing off the Hulk," Fury said. "Black Widow will drive you from Stark Tower and bring you here after Thor takes Loki to Asgard."

"Good enough." Clint disconnected the call, turned off the phone, and threw it over the side of the building into the rubble that was New York City. Manhattan, destroyed, and it could be laid squarely at his doorstep. He squatted down, considering tumbling after it. He'd worked for Shield for years, and he'd been held captive often enough to know that it wasn't the future he wanted. Sure, it wasn't bad if he knew Nat was coming to rescue him, but this was different. This was being thrown in a Shield holding facility until he rotted, and he wouldn't fight it. In everyone's eyes, even his own, he deserved it. He'd betrayed Shield. Hell, he'd betrayed his world. Detention was only fair. Oh, they might trot him out once or twice a year to placate Stark or Banner, but his life – his future – would be nothing but four walls and a toilet.

"I can't do it." Even if he should.

"I'm relieved," Stark drawled. "My suit's trashed. Bruce is sacked out, Thor is talking to Loki, and last time I checked, Captain America couldn't fly."

Easing to his feet, Clint brushed off his knees and tried to smile. It was more of a grimace but he'd given it a shot. "Easier ways to die, Stark. Not sure about this Loki party is all."

"It'll be fun." Stark practically herded Clint inside and off the flight deck. "How many times do you get to see a doorway to another world open up?"

"Third time's a charm?" Clint hadn't enjoyed the first two times. "How do we know it's a one way trip?"

"Thor is taking Loki back to Asgard to face Odin's wrath. He said it. I believe him, and I'm famously skeptical about gods."

"I'm not sure that Thor is technically a god," Rogers said from his sprawled position on a sofa. "I mean, he's from Asgard, another planet. He's not God."

"Whatever gets you through the day," Stark said, waving a hand in the air. "The point is: you should come along to the park, Hawkeye, make sure Loki is sent on his way. You owe him that."

"I owe him an arrow in the eye," Clint grumbled, but he knew he'd go when they ask it of him. "I killed--."

"Loki did it. Not you," Rogers snapped, interrupting him. "He used us too, trying to destroy the helicarrier. We couldn't fight against him, and he hadn't even touched us."

"I know what I did," Clint said, not willing to argue over it. Some of it he didn't remember, but he knew enough. Loki had chosen him for his heart, and it was only dumb luck that he was one of Shield's finest. Not any longer though, and he'd never blame them. They'd never trust him with anything again, and no one would forgive him Agent Coulson's death, not even Nat.

"Hawkeye, you look like you might shoot someone. Not me, right?"

Clint nodded, striding to the wall of whiskey and pouring himself a shot. It gave his hands something to do. He drank it fast, and then poured one to sip. "So when does the circus start?"

"Tomorrow. Noon." Stark fiddled with his tablet, calling images to life. "Jarvis, find Hawkeye a bed."

"Like I'm going to sleep." Clint took his whiskey to the other end of Cap's sofa and sat down with a small groan. His bow and last remaining arrow were tucked in a corner nearby, but he wouldn't need them again. Not where he was going. "Did Hulk destroy the floor like that?"

"With Loki's body." Rogers flashed a quick smile. "He's not a god. That's for sure."

"Right." Stark rolled his eyes. "Jarvis, help me, please?"

"I'm unsure how to fulfill this request. Perhaps Miss Potts could help?"

Laughing under his breath, Clint sipped his whiskey, enjoying the smooth burn. He was more of a beer guy, but alien invasions called for stronger stuff. "Does anyone but me feel like they were run over by a tank?"

"Yes."

"Yup."

"Glad I'm not alone," Clint said, knowing the irony of that. He had years of loneliness stretching out in front of him, but he was in no hurry to get started. Stark started talking about this and that, earning sounds of disbelief and disapproval from Rogers. They didn't need his input, and he was happy enough just to sit, do nothing but sip his whiskey and wait for a new day. Running was a bad idea. Shield would send Nat to find him, and maybe it'd be her turn to kill him. Being dead would be better than doing nothing from a prison cell for the next forty years. He was sure of that. Scenarios and possibilities tumbled about in his aching brain, and if he shifted his eyes too fast, he could still catch a glimpse of blue, like the after image of a camera flash.

"Hawkeye! Birdbrain!"

"What?" Clint snapped, pulling his attention to Stark with effort. "It's been a long day!"

"Put this on your forehead." Stark tossed him an ice pack. "Got any other injuries?"

"Just bruises and small cuts." Clint stretched back, put the ice pack on the lump, and winced. Nat had definitely rang his bell. The cold felt good after the initial shock, and he might've drifted.

"Go take a shower, Hawkeye," Stark said. "Capsicle is done."

Clint pried open his eyes, threw the now warm ice pack at Stark, and heaved himself to his feet. "I should leave."

"There are clothes waiting for you. Get cleaned up." Stark had a butterfly bandage over the worst cut on his face, and he smelled cleaner. Clint knew it was crazy, but he scooped up his bow and quiver. Stark pointed in a random direction. "Jarvis, show him the way. I need to check on Bruce."

Not sure who Tony was talking to, Clint still followed the directions that came from the speaker in the wall. Natasha had been on the job with Stark for months, but Clint had never read the reports or given one damn about Stark. The guy was rich. The guy invented cool tech. End of story. Clint had been busy off somewhere killing people, and he didn't even wince internally at that job description. Loki had seen that Clint was a stone cold killer and had put him to use. No one should be surprised.

The voice led him around a corner or two, and Clint stopped dead when he opened the door to the bathroom. It wasn't a bathroom. It was more like a spa. There was a couch, chairs, two tubs, a sauna, a shower big enough to fit ten, and at least three sinks. True to Stark's word there was a stack of clothes, and Clint locked the door before finding a safe place for his bow and stripping out of his filthy uniform. It was torn in places, mauled in others, and he won't need it again.

The water in the shower ran dirty, and he scrubbed harder than necessary, trying to get clean. Unsatisfied but knowing he was being stupid, he switched to a hot tub the size of an elephant and got comfortable. His head still hurt. His back felt like Hulk had stomped it, and his arm was nothing but a noodle. He sincerely hoped no one has video of some of his shots toward the end. He'd lost his form and only his ability to make the shot no matter what had gotten him through. Embarrassing didn't begin to cover it, but then again, most archers didn't have to fight aliens.

"Barton, where are you?"

Sighing, Clint tapped his ear bud. "In the hot tub. Why? You want to join me?"

"Just worried you'd wandered off into the rubble," Nat said. "Make sure to get your armpits."

"Whatever." Clint pulled out both of his custom-made ear buds and tossed them in the direction of the trash can. He wouldn't need them again, and he couldn't imagine Shield would issue him hearing aids for prison. The silence was comfortable, well-worn, and he shut his eyes, not caring if someone burst through the door and shot him. It had happened before so he wasn't being paranoid, but today, he would let them, even thank them.

Something woke him up, and he didn't question it. He dragged himself out of the cold water, dried off, and shrugged into the waiting clothes: jeans, shirt, and jacket. They fit. He ignored the offered trainers and put on his boots. He looked fine, boring, and he still couldn't leave his bow behind. The string was probably damp, and he quickly took it off, curling it up and stuffing it in his pocket. It didn't matter. He trudged back to the sofa that still held Captain America and took his end again. The bow went back to the corner.

Cap and Stark were talking, or likely arguing. Clint could see their mouths moving, eyebrows going up and down, but there was nothing he could add to any conversation. He wondered if nightfall would drive either of them to a floor with intact windows, but he didn't care. This was fine. Tomorrow, he'd plan on prison and years of staring at blank walls with nothing to do but regret. Right now, he'd sit here. Another ice pack landed in his lap, and he didn't launch it right back at Stark. For a rich guy, he was a regular mother hen. Clint slithered down, put his head back, and let the ice pack freeze his head.

Two taps to his right hand brought him wide awake, and he met Nat's eyes before sitting up with a stretch. She didn't look worried, handing him a cup of coffee, so there was nothing to worry about at the moment. He yawned and shook his head when she pointed at his ear.

What followed from her mouth was most likely cursing, but he couldn't hear it. She stomped away, and he got to his feet, stretching his back and arms. He'd felt worse, not often, but once or twice in his life, and downing the coffee made it possible to function. He noted the position of everyone in the room, seeing all of them staring at him.

Stark went first. "You forgot something?" His lips were ridiculously easy to read.

"Nope." Clint could feel the vibration in his throat as he spoke. When Shield put him in prison without hearing aids, he'd start to slur his words, but that humiliation was in the future. Something else to look forward to, and he clenched his fist, turning his back, unable to look at them. They were real heroes. He was one of the bad guys. Another tease of blue in the fringe of his vision, and he shut his eyes tight, not sure he could do this, not sure he could pretend he was fine.

Another double tap, and he sighed before facing Nat. She handed him the ear buds and narrowed her eyes. He shrugged and put them in without letting her see his anger.

"Clint, we'll get rid of Loki and then head back to base. You need some rest. I can tell by the way you're moving that you strained a muscle in your back," she said.

"Went through glass, landed on the quiver." Clint focused on that instead of her obliviousness to his fate once he returned to the helicarrier. "I guess sleeping in my quarters would be nice."

"Exactly. You know you feel safe there."

"So..." Stark drawled out the word. "Hawkeye has hearing aids? Those aren't just comm units?"

Nat and Clint both turned to face him. They gave identical shrugs.

"They're kinda clunky. Don't they hurt after a few hours?" Stark's fingers twitched like he wanted to examine them, but that wasn't happening.

"It doesn't matter," Clint said with real feeling. "Let's get this party over with. The last thing I want to do today is stand around your penthouse, watching you drink, Captain America mope, and Bruce try not to destroy another borough of New York."

"You left out Thor," Stark shot right back at him.

"I don't insult Gods who throw lightning bolts for a living." Clint was done with them. "Nat, where's the car?"

"Shield sent one over."

"I know that." Clint quit trying. "Never mind. I'll find it."

"Hawkeye, wait--."

Clint didn't look at Cap, going to the elevator and heading to the lobby. He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling the string of his bow and refusing to care that he'd left it behind. It was Shield issue, not his own, and someone would return it. Pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes, he watched blue crackles, locking down his emotions and problems. None of it mattered. Whatever happened in the future couldn't be worse than places he'd been in his past. Shield holding facilities were hands-down the nicest jails he'd ever seen. The food was even okay. Nat would visit.

The door slid open, and he was out, away, and the sounds of the sirens and broken city nearly overwhelmed him. The car was dead obvious, and he leaned against the passenger side door, watching the city move. No one even glanced at him, and he supposed he should grab a broom and help clean up the mess he and Loki had made.

"You through being an ass?"

"Where's Eric Selvig?" Clint wouldn't discuss his behavior. "Shield has him?"

"Yes." Nat stared at him, not elaborating.

"He's smart. They'll put him to work on something." Clint spared a hope that Shield would help the guy find his way, get over building a portal for the Chitauri.

"Clint, I don't know what you're thinking, but I have the feeling you're wrong."

"Usually am." Clint had one more question. The only question that he cared about a truthful answer. "Any word on when the memorial for Coulson is?"

Nat's body language changed, not much, but enough to make Clint wince. He lowered his head. "I guess I'm not invited."

"That's not it. I heard they took him home to his parents, and they were handling it."

"Whatever." Clint didn't believe a word of that. He knew how it worked. There was always a memorial, even if it was just in the lounge with paper cups and stale beer. "Is Fury coming to this going away party?"

"No."

"Well, there's that." Clint opened the car door and slid into the seat. They might as well get this over with so he could report to his cell, maybe make friends with other world-class criminals.

Getting in the car, Nat slammed her door and slapped him on the back of the head. "Do I need to unscramble your brains again?"

His entire field of vision went blue for one instant and then snapped back to normal. Rage curdled in his stomach, and it felt like old anger mixed with new. He slowly tilted his head and cracked his neck, fighting for control. He would not kill her like he'd killed Coulson. "Nat, you know this isn't going to end well for me. Don't pretend."

"You don't know that, and neither do I. Fury told me you're invaluable to Shield operations. He wouldn't say that if they intended to stash you somewhere."

Clint rolled his eyes, unwilling to believe the optimism that he was hearing from a cynical, Russian spy. She was in denial. "Did you get hit in the head during the whole Chitauri thing?"

"Of course." She started the car. "I hate New York traffic."

"Probably be faster to walk." Clint hunkered down, unable to care if they ever got to the park. He tried to notice every detail of the city as they meandered towards the park. The sky was blue, the weather nice, and the place was a wreck, still on fire in places, smoke drifting on the breeze. He sunk a little lower, able to picture the bodies in the rubble, and wondered if he could go out in public without being lynched. "You've been watching TV?"

They were at a light so Natasha favored him with a long look. "No footage of us has surfaced. The press is concentrating on the big four: Thor, Captain America, Hulk, and Iron Man."

"Shield has a lid on it."

She gave one of her patented nod-shrugs. "For now, but I'm changing my hair."

"I'll grow mine out." Clint put his arm over his eyes. "Maybe dye it red."

"Okay, Merida." Her humor fell flat.

The ride didn't take long enough, but Clint got out of the car without Natasha threatening him. Everyone seemed to be arriving at once, and Clint had a clear line of sight when Thor pushed his brother, giving him a shove in anger. Blue spots sparked in Clint's vision, and he made sure his face showed no expression as Loki looked at him, metal gag keeping him silent for a change.

"He should wear that all the time," Nat whispered in Clint's ear.

It wasn't a terrible idea, and Clint smirked, glad his sunglasses hid his eyes because he was afraid they were shining blue again.

They fell into a rough circle. Tony had the tesseract, Bruce looked worried, and it was transferred to Thor's care. Clint managed a breath, feeling as if time was slowing down. His future was in ruins, like the city around them. Loki stared into his brother's eyes, refusing to put his hand on the Asgardian container for the tesseract. Thor looked as if he wanted a fight, and Loki reached.

Clint held his breath as Loki's hand came up, knowing the field to take them to Asgard would snap up around them in moments. Minutes later, Nat would take him to his future: a cot and three squares.

Loki's hand tightened, there was twist, and Clint threw himself at a different fate.

Everything in him was swept up, turbulence stealing his breath, and he was sure he'd have been broken into pieces except that someone grabbed him, held him tight, kept him from death. If he survived the maelstrom yanking at his body, he'd consider thanking them. 

He fell, dropped onto what could only be described as a rainbow bridge in serious need of repair. The arm wrapped around his midsection shoved him away, and he collapsed to his knees.

"What have you done, Hawk?" Thor boomed.

Words failed him, and he swallowed hard, trapped by Loki's gaze.

"If my brother had not caught you, you would've been killed!"

"Better than sticking around Earth to be thrown in prison!" Clint spat, jumping to his feet and feeling as if he'd taken a hammer to the head. "Just look the other way. I'm gone."

"There is no place to go." Thor took the tessaract container from Loki's hand. "You were not destined for prison. You are a hero."

"Even Loki is laughing at that." Clint saw the rapidly approaching guard, hands full of chains, and he'd jumped from the frying pan to the fire. Blue sparkles danced across his vision, and he shook his head, somehow ending up behind Loki. They were suddenly surrounded, Loki accepting the chains without fighting, and the gag was removed.

"You have made a dire mistake, Hawk," Loki said. "My father is not kindly disposed toward mortals."

"Do not fret, friend," Thor said. "Our father is reasonable."

Loki laughed, and Clint slid out of the way as the chains were pulled, and they began a procession towards a palace that looked straight from Disney on steroids. He somehow fell into lockstep behind Loki and followed by Thor. It felt like a prison march. 

"Don't consider jumping over the side of the bridge. It doesn't end well," Loki said, barking out a strange laugh.

"We thought you dead. It is no joking matter."

"I'm trapped in a real-life episode of Family Feud." Clint rubbed his forehead, wishing he'd had another cup of coffee to start the day. It'd be easy to dismiss everything Loki said as lies, but Clint knew better. Thor was a raging optimist. Loki lived in the real world, full of shades of gray and flawed people. In some ways, Loki was easier to understand, not that Clint didn't want to put an arrow in the guy's eye. Because he did. Blowing him out of the sky had been satisfying, but not permanent. "I should've brought my bow," he mumbled.

As they approached, the city took shape around the castle as the sun came up. Clint would never admit it, but his feet dragged a little as the reality of what he'd done began to stare him in face. He could've used a cheeseburger, too.

"You could just send me back, Thor. Drop me anywhere but New York," Clint said as they stepped in the shadow of the castle. The whole damn thing was beyond huge, built for giants.

"I wish it were that easy, Hawk." Thor shook his head.

"If you hadn't destroyed the bifrost, he could return!"

"If you hadn't tried to kill an entire race, I wouldn't have destroyed it!"

"You should've let me! I was king!"

"You sat upon the throne only by trickery!"

"It's my throne! I am the rightful king of Asgard!"

"Saying it does not make it so!"

"A nice quiet cell in the bowels of a Shield facility is starting to look good right now," Clint said.

The doors opened with a bang, and all eyes went to the man with the eye patch.

"Father."

"Won't you welcome me home, Odin?"

Another guy with one eye was in charge of Clint's future. He was screwed. More screwed.

********

Coulson's first words almost sent Fury back out the door.

"Where's Barton?"

Fury began to pace, noting everything about Coulson's condition. The man was still closer to death than most, and chances were good he wouldn't remember any of this.

"You have him in a cell?"

"He's fine," Fury said, not able to promise but willing to throw it out there.

"Who's his new handler?"

"Thor."

*********

"Take him to the dungeon." Odin gestured at Loki.

No one argued, and Loki grinned wide, looking crazy, as he was dragged away.

"My son, who is this?" Odin looked Clint up and down, clearly not impressed. "The runt of the litter?"

"This is the one the mortals call Hawkeye," Thor said. "He is a mighty archer. I was honored to fight alongside him against the Chitauri."

Clint grinned, trying for insolent. "Nice to meet ya."

"He is still infected with the power of the tessaract. Do not turn your back on him." Odin made a gesture that produced more guards. "Speak, Eye of Hawk, why are you here?"

A thousand words caught in Clint's throat. Blue flashed across his peripheral vision, and he forced it out. "Loki did this to me. He made me kill my own."

"The seed for betrayal was in your heart, or he never could've twisted it into death."

"Father, he fought bravely, with no concern for his own safety, and he is but mortal," Thor said.

"So this is my fault?" Clint let his anger turn to molten fury. "You don't know me. I was one of the best! People practically worshiped me! I was--."

"You are too proud, like Loki, and your desire for adoration gave him another path into your heart." Odin narrowed his eyes. "Put him with his master. I will discuss this with my son and the healers."

"Father!"

"Be silent, Thor. He is mortal, twisted and weak."

"I'll show you weak." Clint jumped for Odin's throat, but he was caught, and fighting against Asgardians wasn't smart. He did it anyway, trying to inflict damage. It was like striking at mountains, and with one blow, the world went dark.

********

"You're an idiot. I suspected as much." Loki nudged Clint with a boot. "I had hoped you would be smart enough to get me out."

Hauling himself to his feet and moving to the other side of the cell took longer than Clint liked. "He said I'm still infected with the tesseract!"

Loki blinked. "You are?" He tilted his head and snapped his fingers. "Kneel!"

"Fuck you," Clint snarled, forcing his knees straight and hating the urge to drop.

"Ah, but I saw you flinch. Perhaps my father is correct, for a change." Loki prowled up close and sniffed. He sniffed, making a face as if he'd smelled rotten meat. Clint pressed his back to the wall and considered how hard to punch him, not whether, but how much force and where exactly would produce the most blood. Loki stared into Clint's eyes, arms loose, casual, and Clint took advantage, moving fast and hard. Loki blocked and twirled, and Clint hit the wall and then the floor. It was always the floor that hurt the most.

Laughing, Loki strolled to him and kicked him in the ribs. "Try harder, Hawk."

"It's not Hawk! It's Hawkeye! I have good vision! I'm not a damn bird, even if I do like heights occasionally because they make it easier to kill people!" Clint shoved himself up, ignoring the pain in his chest. "You're the damn idiot! There was no way you were ever going to beat Iron Man. He could take you down on his worst day!"

"Hawkeye, Hawk, what does it matter? And I won't make the mistake of underestimating the Man of Iron again. I should've killed him in his mortal form. Stuck my staff right through his heart, like I did that stupid mortal on the ship. He thought he could defeat me. Hah!"

"His name was Agent Phil Coulson," Clint ground out and threw himself back into the fight. He was positive he couldn't win, but he didn't give a damn. If he managed to draw one drop of Loki's blood, it'd be a good start.

The dark eased a shade lighter, and he felt himself cough, trying to breathe, face clogged with blood. His hands didn't want to help the situation so he curled his legs, crying out in pain and wishing the universe gave a damn.

"Oh, guard, could you take out the garbage?"

Clint bared his teeth and found some strength.

"I was right. You do have heart," Loki said, striking him down again. "I must say it was kind of my father to provide me with such entertainment. Don't die, Hawk, I would be devastated."

It wasn't that Clint didn't want to live. It was just that death was a better alternative than any choices he'd been given lately. He used the walls at the corner to clamber to his feet, one eye swollen shut, fingers refusing to make a fist on his left hand. Loki came at him in a whirlwind, and Clint dropped to the floor, pulling Loki's ankle with the tip of one boot and slamming the other boot into Loki's knee as hard as humanly possible.

The snap was the most beautiful thing Clint had heard since Coulson had reamed him out for standing on the roof of Shield headquarters and firing arrows into the empty building across the street. It'd been research. No one had been hurt. The air was different between buildings in the city, and practice made perfect. Coulson's voice had been a masterpiece of horror and amusement as he made sure that Clint felt guilty for everything, even existing.

Loki's scream hit an uncomfortable pitch, and Clint laughed as he coughed up another chunk of blood. Coulson would be proud. Clint blinked up at the ceiling, watching the edges go black. He was finished, and he was fine with it. He'd gone out fighting a god, not many men could say that.

"Odin's beard! What have you done?" Thor shouted over Loki's wailing. Clint grinned, bloody and triumphant, and let the dark have him.

********

"Where's Barton?" Coulson asked for the fourth time.

Fury rubbed his forehead, tired of this dance. "He's fine, Phil. You have to get well. People are counting on you."

Coulson's breath rattled in his throat. "His new handler is a good one?" The words were soft, rough around the edges.

"Nothing but the best for Hawkeye," Fury said, slumping down in the chair. "Go back to sleep."

It wasn't so much as sleep as passing out again, but Fury would take it. He hadn't realized how attached Coulson was to Hawkeye, and now he did.

"He's getting better, sir," Hill said. She gave Coulson an awkward pat on the shoulder. "When will you tell him about Barton?"

"Never." Fury got to his feet, feeling every one of his years. "And you won't either. Don't fuck with me on this, Hill."

She raised her eyebrows. "Tell him about the warrant out for Barton's arrest? Or the fact he's on Asgard, or dead?"

"Any of it."

********

A big hand on Clint's chest is all that kept him from levitating off the cold slab of a table and hitting the floor running.

"Lie still, Hawk," Thor rumbled. "The healers are not finished."

"You should've let me die," Clint whispered, not listening to Thor's protestations. He dropped away again, waking up to find himself in a prison cell. This time, he could see Loki across the way in another cell, and he gave him the finger before even trying to stand. His clothes, his boots, were gone, and he was dressed in a weird, white flowing outfit, sorta like pants and a poncho. Bare feet that weren't cold, and the only good thing about it was his ass didn't hang out of it like his usual hospital gown. He lay there, blinking, trying to figure out if he hurt somewhere, and then he checked his ear buds out of habit, but they were gone.

Resignation settled in before he realized that he could... hear. It took a moment, and then it came to him. He could hear. Little things, like his foot scraping on the cot, the guard pacing, and a curse shouted from somewhere close by. He checked again for his buds, even feeling the back of his head for implants, but there was nothing. Trembling, he put his feet, no boots, on the floor and moved to the glass front of the cell. He listened. Listened.

If he were the kind of man to cry, he'd have cried.

"You look as if you've been struck upon the head!" Loki shouted at him. "I will chastise Father severely for taking my toy away!"

"Fuck you!" Clint stuck with the basics, turning away from him. Now that Loki wasn't in it, he could admit that it was a damn nice prison cell. Maybe the best he'd ever had. Plenty of light, a large bathroom, and the golden shimmering design on the windows was a nice touch. He touched his ears, wondering if it were all a trick but deciding to enjoy it while it lasted. He went to his cot, more of an actual bed, and lay back down. He'd pace later, but right now, he had to think, figure a way out of this. It was hard to concentrate with all the tiny sounds interrupting him so he focused on them for the moment, truly listening. The hearing aids amplified, but he often wondered how much the aids missed and if they made some sounds actually too loud.

It was stupid, but he clapped because he could hear it. He was too awake now to stay in bed and began to pace the front of the cell. If they'd fixed his hearing and other broken parts, it was possible the tesseract energy was gone also. He turned quickly, trying now to catch a glimpse of blue. Nothing, so he pressed into his eyes, watching the sparkles for blue. It was too good to hope for, but he did, and he stopped, noticing that Loki was staring at him.

Loki smirked, raised his eyebrows, and pointed at the floor. The slight quiver that rippled through Clint's guts down to his knees told Clint everything he needed to know. Loki laughed, head back, mouth open, joy easy to see. Clint hated him a lot.

"If only he'd killed me." Clint banged his fist against the window, and it shoved him away. Maybe he had enjoyed being the best shot on Earth, and maybe he liked the awe of the younger agents, but that didn't mean anything. And that crap about the seed of betrayal in his heart was bullshit. He owed his life to Shield, and he'd never resented it. Not once. He turned to sit down with his back to Loki. Odin was wrong. Wrong.

"What the hell have I done," Clint muttered. It wasn't a question, more of a statement of general disbelief. He rubbed his face and made up his mind that it didn't matter. The one person on Earth who he'd actually liked was dead. Nat didn't count. Their relationship had been forged in fire and a hail of bullets that neither of them should've lived through. She would be fine without him.

Coulson was dead. It didn't feel real or even possible. The only handler who hadn't ended up hating Clint with a passion. The only person who Clint had looked forward to seeing. He'd done it. He'd put Loki in the position to kill him. It was on Clint. He couldn't twist or turn his way out of this one. He'd led that strike team, knowing exactly who was on board the helicarrier and trying to kill them all.

Grief wasn't a big enough word. He crawled to the bed and lay flat again, throwing his arm over his eyes.

Odin had a point.

********

Eyes bright, Coulson grabbed Fury the hand. "Where's Barton? He usually stops in to see me when I'm down here in medical, suffering for days on end."

Careful to control a sigh, Fury noted Coulson's fever. He clasped Coulson's hand briefly before getting him a cup of water to sip. "Have you decided to live? No more dying on your busy schedule?"

"I was only dead for a minute or two," Coulson scoffed, hand not trembling at all. "Everyone around here gets to die once or twice."

"Well, you've fulfilled your quota." Fury shoved his hands in his pockets, turning away to stare out the window towards the nurse's station. "We could use your help, if you could see your way to getting well."

"I'll give it a try. Tell Barton to quit slacking off. I'll be back at work soon."

"Will do." Fury left without another word, closing the door quietly. He waited until he was in the elevator to slam his fist against the wall in frustration.

********

It was quite a show when they dragged Loki off in the thick, silver chains. He put up a fight at first, only subsiding when the heavy collar went around his neck. He was breathing hard, eyes flashing in rage, and Clint made sure to laugh and point.

They brought Loki back before too long, and Clint wasn't surprised at all when they came after him next. They didn't honor him with chains, just pointing and giving him a nudge once when his feet slowed. Loki was too busy destroying furniture to laugh.

Odin sat on a throne at the end of a large room filled with columns. It was a place designed to impress and intimidate, gold and stone and a feeling of age. Clint stopped near the bottom step, staring up at the god and considering that even Captain America might concede a little godhood at this point.

"Am I under arrest? Because I didn't receive a phone call." Clint would never kneel, not unless they beat the crap out of him.

"The healers have informed me that the remains of the tessaract in your heart cannot be removed, but they may fade with time."

"Hey, tell them thanks for fixing my ears." Clint grinned up at him.

"You remind me of Thor at a young age, full of unbridled spirit." Odin didn't sound as if it were a good thing. "But your heart will remain with Loki until the energy fades. If I release you, you will surely hurt others in your rage and pain."

"I'm angry because Loki destroyed my life!" Clint didn't make the mistake of moving towards him. "I'm in a full-on rage because Loki killed my friends!"

"You assisted him in those endeavors." Odin didn't pull his punches. "Thor wishes for you to be returned to Earth. I am uncertain. Why did you throw yourself into the bifrost?"

It was tempting to lie, or make a wisecrack, but Clint sighed and went with the truth. "They were going to put me in a prison cell for being Loki's tool. I thought, maybe, if I came here, I'd have a chance at a life."

"You would rather die than be imprisoned. I see it." Odin nodded, face turning so only the patch was visible. "Heimdall has spoken to me of your Avengers and their upset at your deed."

"I nearly killed them all. They should be angry. Though, in fairness, Hulk was never in any danger."

"You misunderstand, but it is of no matter. The tesseract will continue to alter your heart and mind, and I must take responsibility for my son's actions."

"Wait a damn minute. There are other people Loki put under the spell of the tesseract! What are you going to do for them? A nice cell like mine?" Angry now, Clint put his foot on the bottom step, sensing the shift in the guards behind him.

"None of them are a honed weapon such as you. Here, at least, you can harm no one."

"Yeah, give me a bow and I'll show you exactly how much harm I can do!" Clint ached for a bow in his hand. He saw it now. Blue lightning flickering on the edge of his vision. "Give me a chance!"

"Father! I do not agree with this course of action," Thor said, coming out from somewhere behind the throne.

"I know, my son, but you see that he is a danger. He should not have thrown himself on my mercy, for I have none for Midgardians tainted with blood magic." Odin seemed to have dismissed Clint from his mind, and Clint moved as fast as possible up those stairs and right into Thor's way.

"Thor, tell him. Explain it!" Clint clenched his hand into a fist, struggling for control. "It was Loki!"

Thor clasped Clint around the forearm. "Be calm. You must control this."

"I'm fine! I'm angry because I'm going to jail for being a puppet! Loki used me! If anything, you and your family owe me!"

"He is irrational. Should I give him to Loki or return him to his own cell? I would seek your council, my son."

Clint whirled and lashed out, but Thor wrapped him close, keeping him from doing anything but squirming and yelling. "Loki has healed from the injuries given to him by this Midgardian Hawk."

"Perhaps they both have learned a lesson." Odin rose to his feet and made a gesture. "Take him to Loki. Thor, do not interfere."

"I will not allow Loki to kill him," Thor said, putting Clint on his feet and pushing him away. Clint nearly fell, counted the guards again, and considered how angry he truly was at men with patches over one eye.

"Give me a chance," Clint said. "Or give me an arrow and I'll put out your other damn eye!"

Thor crossed his arms. "The Son of Coul would not approve of this behavior."

"He's dead. Thanks to Loki!" Clint grabbed Thor by the arm. "Thor, please."

"Be patient, Hawkeye. When the tesseract is gone from your heart and soul, you will be freed."

That sounded like the truth, but it could be decades or never before the blue energy was gone, and Clint took his chances on running.

That damn black boot woke him again, nudging hard enough to make Clint gasp and lash out. Loki retreated, laughing. The guy laughed way too much.

"Lady Sif says you are a worthy opponent."

Groaning, Clint pushed to sitting, leaning against the wall. "Great. I feel so much better about my life."

"She is a mighty warrior. You're lucky to be alive." Loki paced back and forth. "Did Father happen to mention why you're here with me again?"

"Something about lessons learned. I wasn't really listening." Clint wiped some blood from his mouth and wanted to see Natasha take Lady Sif to the cleaners. It was definitely a job for Natasha because Clint was not up to it. "He also said I'm evil like you, blah blah blah."

"That does sound like Father." Loki didn't slow his steps. "Thor has informed me that he will kill me if I beat you again. For some odd reason, I believe him."

"Huh." Clint used his tongue to check for loose teeth, finding nothing but some blood. He staggered to the bathroom and washed out his mouth, glad for the amenities of Asgardian justice. After taking a piss, he almost felt like living. He remembered every word Odin had said and what bothered him was the stuff about the Avengers. They were upset, but not because he'd tried to kill them. Something else, and he was sure he didn't know what it was. If he missed out on another alien invasion because he was trapped in this cell, he'd feel guilty forever. Guiltier.

Oh, hell, he already felt guilty enough to last a lifetime. He strolled out and gave Loki the stink eye. One beat down a day was enough, but Loki better not try anything. "What's keeping you here? Wave your hand and disappear. Do your Loki thing."

"I would if I could." With a casual hand, Loki made a small table fly through the air and shatter against the front window that clearly wasn't made of glass. "My magic is contained to this space."

"Yeah, so is mine." Clint sat in a chair that looked fairly comfortable before Loki could destroy it. "I hate you."

"The feeling is mutual." Loki went to stand in front of the slab of stone that slid aside whenever they were dragged off to see Odin. "Perhaps I can escape when my brother comes to examine your body."

"He'd storm in here and kill you, probably with lightning, but maybe with his hammer. It'd be a great show." Clint crossed his legs and wiggled to get more comfortable. He wasn't worried, and he should've been, but it felt like a waste of his time. Later, he'd try to kill Loki in his sleep. After all, Thor had said nothing about the consequences if Loki died. "When's supper?"

"Soon." Loki resumed pacing, his boots rapping on the floor.

"You shouldn't have killed Coulson," Clint made sure to sound bored, not like it was the most important fact in his non-life right now.

"He was going to kill me. Or try. You do remember our plan? It worked to perfection." Loki put one hand near the window and muttered a few things under his breath. There was a flash of light, but nothing happened. "Damn you, Odin."

"So he's your dad? He's a dick." Clint veered away from discussing Coulson any further. When Clint killed Loki, and he would do it slowly, the guilt would ease a little.

"I'm a Frost Giant of Jotenheim." Loki must've seen that Clint didn't understand. "I'm adopted. He found me after a battle and brought me here to Asgard to raise as his own."

"Wow, nothing like biting the hand that feeds you. My parents died when I was young, but we weren't much of a family. My brother kept trying to kill me." Clint snapped his fingers. "Hey, it's like you and Thor, only I'm Thor."

"There is no comparison, you fool." Loki narrowed his eyes, anger tinting his words. "I'm a prince. The King of Asgard."

"Delusion is a beautiful thing." Clint laughed. They'd talked a lot when he was under the full spell of the tesseract. He knew Loki like he knew very few people. The job tended to keep him isolated, just Coulson in Clint's ear and sometimes Natasha at his side. He didn't mind. Not getting attached to people made it easier if he had to kill them later. "Do all Frost Giants look like you? I mean, you're tall, but not that tall. I wouldn't say you're a giant."

"Shut up!" Loki threw a chair without touching it.

"A runt like me." Clint laughed, remembering Odin's words. Loki stalked over him, eyes mean, ready to do murder. Clint smiled and winked, holding up two fingers. "Two words: lightning bolts."

A harsh breath and Loki stomped to the other side of the cell. "This has turned out to be a rather more severe punishment than I'd imagined."

"Hey, you broke me, you bought me." Clint heard his stomach rumble and hoped food arrived soon. "I know you intended to kill me before the Chitauri came through the portal. Shame you waited so long."

"I had promised the Romanov mortal that you'd kill her before I killed you. It interfered with my original schedule." Loki sounded completely honest and almost bored. "Details are the worst part of any good invasion."

"I feel for you. Really." Clint controlled a shudder at the idea of killing Natasha. He remembered fighting with her on the catwalk, but she'd won that easily enough, like usual. She was just better than him at close quarters hand-to-hand. He was better at shooting any weapon. Their skill sets dove-tailed perfectly. "I miss her."

"She is a spitfire. I might have succeeded if I'd turned her heart instead of yours," Loki purred, venom dripping.

"Probably." Clint didn't rise to the bait. A flash of light made Clint blink and the table placed in the back corner was suddenly covered with food and drink. Loki didn't take a step that direction, turning his back and stalking to the far window. Clint didn't rush, keeping an eye out for the lash of a hand or foot, but he was hungry and thirsty. He pulled up a chair, noticed the lack of knives or forks, and picked up what looked like a chicken leg. "After I eat this, I'm going to sharpen the bone and drive it in what passes for your heart."

"It's all swept away, idiot." Loki strolled over and snagged a cup of something that smelled like juice. "Eat quickly. It will be gone soon."

Clint shoved his mouth full before realizing that he'd obeyed the words without thinking. He wanted to throw the food at Loki, toss the table, paint the walls. All he did was eat. He needed his strength. The drink was refreshing, and he kept his hand around a cup, hoping that he could keep it. Loki ate very little, tasting more than eating, but he drank his fair share.

"Can you stop pacing?" Clint indulged himself by throwing a piece of bread at him. Loki snarled but said nothing, and between one blink and another, the food was gone. The cup in Clint's hand vanished as well. He sighed. "Better than most prison food."

Loki stalked to the bed and sat down upon it. "If you talk all night, I will gag you."

"You can try." Clint grinned. He did wish there was another bed, but he'd slept on worse floors. At least it was clean. The entire cell was more civilized than most of Clint's apartments, bigger than the one he'd had in Paris, too. There was another flash and a stack of books appeared on a side table, and then a bed, small but better than a cot. Clint shoved it as far away from Loki as possible. "I call bathroom."

"Please drown yourself."

Against his will, Clint chuckled. He pissed, washed up, and wandered back out to his cot. Loki was reclined on his bed, still in his leather and metal regalia, boots on his feet. Clint wiggled his toes and wished for boots. "I hate you," he said, filling the need to voice it.

"The feeling is mutual." Loki's entire form shimmered, and he was suddenly dressed just like Clint, down to bare feet. He slid under the covers of the bed and the cell was thrown into darkness with only the golden pattern on the windows as a night light.

Magic sucked.

******** 

"So Barton sat with me while I was sleeping?" Coulson asked, unsure why he wasn't able to let this go, but he knew Fury, and Fury had a twitch. A twitch that Coulson had tracked on a number of occasions where Fury was hiding the truth, not lying, but making sure the world never knew the facts.

"You sleep a lot." Fury slumped down in a chair, only the patch visible.

"The view in here is dull." Coulson adjusted the bed height a touch higher. His body was tired of lying flat. "Are you going to be my only visitor? I'm tired of looking at you, too."

"Always complaints." Fury sidestepped that trap easily enough. "Anyway, you're out of here later today."

"Really?" Coulson couldn't believe it. He hadn't even managed to pee in the toilet yet, and he was keenly aware of the rules about being discharged.

"Really. Tahiti is a magical place. You'll finish healing there. I have working agents that need that bed." Fury's shoulders curled, not enough that regular agents would've noticed, but Coulson was surprised to see it. Fury jammed his hand in his duster pocket and tossed something on the bed. Coulson felt his eyes widen, and he couldn't help but stare in horror. He looked up at Fury. Fury nodded. "I used them to kick Stark and Captain America in the pants. You could say that your cards died serving their country."

"Or I could say that you ruined my cards and yell a little bit about lockers and privacy!" Coulson picked them up, cringing at the blood, which he knew wasn't his, but this was so very wrong. "Any thing else you did while I was dead? Shoot my dog? Sell my Lola? Bomb my hometown?"

"You don't own a dog. Unless you count Barton." Fury sighed, long and hard. "And no, he can't go with you. He's busy."

Coulson separated the cards into two piles: destroyed and possible to look at without crying too hard. Unspoken were the words, 'too busy to see you' but he would catch up with Barton sooner or later, and they'd have a conversation about avoidance behaviors and guilt. "It's just that all his other handlers hate him."

"Very damn true."

********

After he hit the floor, Clint came to the conclusion that his plan to stay awake had failed miserably. He blamed the food for that, but he had Loki to blame for the slap that had knocked him off the bed. Launching himself, he went through the image of Loki to slam into the window. It threw him back to the floor, and he watched the ceiling spin in circles.

"What a glorious way to wake up." Loki yawned and stretched.

Clint crawled back to his bed and rolled up on it, making a mental note to never touch the golden stuff. "I hate you."

"Yes, you mentioned it. Now, what shall we do today? Read? Relive memories of glorious battle in your New York? Why is it new? Is not the old York still standing?"

"I need coffee." Clint rubbed his face, not as angry about the slap as he should've been. Barney had done worse when Clint had slept late. "What is that golden crap?"

"Magic." Loki turned and his white outfit faded away, replaced by his usual black and green leathers. He waved a casual hand, remaking several pieces of broken furniture, and stalked over to the window. "The dungeon grows full of angry men."

"I see a few chicks too." Clint didn't raise his head. "I'd have thought you gods would be more civilized than prison." He rubbed his eyes and considered the bathroom, but it seemed so far away, and he was tired.

"Did you read any of your Norse mythology?"

"I'm not Swedish. More Irish. But I don't read, unless it's mission reports." Clint was sure he should be up, watching his fellow inmate, but Thor would keep him from permanent harm, and he was used to a bruise or two. Loki was back to pacing, and Clint couldn't work up the energy to be annoyed. Twice, the golden energy flared, meaning that Loki was destroying furniture again. Clint sighed. "I am gonna die of boredom."

"You are blessed with only having to remain in this cell for a few decades. I could be here a thousand years or more." Loki strode close and kicked Clint's bed. "I must convince Father to release me."

"He does seem like a reasonable guy." Clint laughed. "Not."

After a moment, Loki chuckled. A sound that could give a person nightmares. "You're going to assist me in my endeavor to break free from this dungeon."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Clint waved his hand. "I'm your faithful sidekick." He shut his eyes, not giving one damn that it was a bad idea. "I'll distract the guard, and you make a break for it. Always works in movies."

"Stop babbling," Loki growled. "We will need both a plan and a place to escape to. Asgard will not be an option."

Clint raised his head and gave the entire cell a good look. "Don't gods use surveillance equipment?"

"They are content in their arrogance. No one has escaped these dungeons in three thousand years."

"Great." Clint refused to believe there was no surveillance whatsoever. He rolled off the bed and went to wash up, not rushing and wondering how many hours a day he'd be hiding by the toilet to escape Loki's insanity. The guy was cracked. "I really should've looked before I leaped."

When he wandered out, considering how to occupy himself for the next fifty years, he saw breakfast had arrived. He moved in on it fast, before it disappeared.

"You will get fat if you continue to eat at such a rate," Loki growled, stalking over to pick up a plate and propel it against the wall.

"Fuck off," Clint mumbled around a mouthful of something that tasted like a pancake made in heaven. He'd lost weight as Loki's puppet, and he intended to get it back. He was damn tired of feeling washed out and weak as a kitten. If he was ever going to escape, he was going to need energy to fight an Asgard warrior or two. Loki picked up a platter to launch, and Clint took his plate to the corner. He ate as much as he could hold and then grabbed something to drink before Loki upended that, too. "Spoiled brat."

That earned some food flying his way, and Clint ducked, laughing. He toasted Loki's idiocy, snatching something like a biscuit out of the air and eating it. Loki threw his head back, roaring, and Clint threw his juice in the moron's face.

Sputtering, Loki broke two pieces of furniture before starting towards Clint. Clint crouched, ready for a fight. "Bring it."

The food, scattered everywhere, disappeared in a blink of light, even off the walls and floor, and Loki stopped. He grinned, which was scarier than some people's snarl. Clint wished for his bow, fingers twitching. Hell, just a knife would give him some peace of mind.

They both heard the rumble of thunder, and Clint found a wall to lean against, casual-like. "Told ya someone is watching."

"This is intolerable! I am a King!" Loki ranted, going off his rocker at the ceiling. Clint went to wash his hands and hang out in a room that didn't have a nutball in it.

********

Magic was highly over-rated, Coulson thought as he lowered himself with care into the waiting wheelchair. If Tahiti was magic, he was more than ready to head back to the mundane world of paperwork and people who weren't paid to smile at him.

"Ready for your massage, sir?"

"Sure." Coulson went along without a fuss. His fingers twitched, wanting a pen to hold. He'd give almost anything for something to do. The island was so remote there wasn't even television, which he believed was by Fury's design. Cell phones didn't work, and all he could do was wait for the plane to pick him up. It gave him plenty of time to heal, damn them, but the brooding he couldn't done without. Time and again, he tried to remember his time in the hospital, but it was all a blur of pain and meds that had made him senseless.

It was pathetic to wish someone had visited him besides Fury, and it was stupid to think no one cared, because he knew they did, but... where was everyone?

******** 

"This is a ridiculous!"

"Of course it is." Clint was at the point he'd do anything to pass the time, and that anything included playing rock, paper, scissors with a spoiled brat of a god. "You're still losing, by the way. Having trouble with the complexities of the game?"

"I hate you."

"I am so relieved." Clint stripped off his shirt and tossed it on his bed. It was time to stretch and do a light workout. He had to toss some pieces of wrecked furniture in the direction of Loki's bed to make room, and he didn't miss the sour look he received. "Hey, we've discussed this."

"I am tempted to stab one of those through your very human heart like I did that stupid--."

A blue mist dropped over Clint's eyes, and he attacked, doing his goddamn human best to wipe that smile off Loki's stupid god face. Dimly, he was aware that he was cursing and shouting, fighting like an animal instead of a trained agent, one of Shield's finest. He tasted blood, ripping and tearing, finding a piece of wood in his hand and using it to beat, kill. All he wanted to do was kill. He saw the blow coming, didn't care, didn't turn aside, and the dark ate him.

"Hawk. Hawk. Be calm."

"I am." Clint shuddered out a deep breath, finding himself again on the slab, people moving around him, and he was sure he had bled on them. "Sorry, Thor. I lost control, again."

"You lasted much longer than I did as a child. Loki and I came to blows every third day, or so my mother has always claimed." Thor stepped back, trusting Clint to stay on the slab.

Clint considered running, but he wouldn't make it far. "Thor, how is everyone?"

For the first time, Thor smiled, gone quickly. "They have not given up hope. Repairs on the rainbow bridge continue. I will speak to my father again on this matter. You have my word."

"His hearing has degenerated again, by three percent but it will be cumulative over time."

"And the tesseract?" Thor asked.

"At this rate of dispersion, he will be free in approximately five years."

"That is excellent news!" Thor boomed.

Shutting his eyes, Clint grabbed all his emotions and froze them up tight. In his line of work, five years was forever, and he needed to admit that his life was over. He'd go deaf again, which since he was bunking with Loki it might not be terrible, but he was done. "Fine. Whatever. Can you throw me back in with Loki now?"

"Come, Shieldbrother, Asgard has shown you little hospitality, and I see no reason to rush to obey Father's orders in this matter."

When Clint looked, Thor had his hand out, and he accepted a hand up. "At least the food's been good."

Thor laughed and swept him away to new clothes, boots that fit, and views that were beautiful enough to make Clint stare in wonder. "No wonder Loki thought our Earth was so lacking."

"Loki sees what is easy." Thor shrugged, looking like someone out of a movie with his blond hair and flowing cape.

It was hard not to stare. Clint blinked and laughed at himself. "This isn't the end of it, Thor. You know I'll try to kill him again."

"Is it wrong that I hope you will gain control?" Thor continued to look out over his city. "There is war in the Nine Realms. If I could, I would take you with me, but I cannot, and you must find the strength to endure your imprisonment. I will continue to argue with Father on your behalf."

"I'm mortal. I get it." Clint couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice.

"I will be speaking with my mother. She can move Father where no one else can. Do not give up hope, Hawk."

Clint shrugged. He didn't have any hope to give at this point. He glanced at Thor, who had on a grin of shit-eating proportions. "What?"

"My warriors would be disappointed if you did not give them a chase this fine day."

"Lady Sif is around?" Clint couldn't help but bounce on his toes at the idea.

"She is a formidable opponent." Thor leaned over the stone wall, craning his neck and trying to look down to another landing beneath them. Clint didn't need another opportunity. He was in the wind before Thor could turn back, determined to make them work for it. An ill-prepared guard, and Clint acquired a knife the length of his forearm. He used every trick he knew, hiding and going high where no one ever looked. His luck changed when he stumbled upon the armory. Astonished at the sheer amount of weaponry, it took him an embarrassing moment to grab a bow and a quiver of arrows. Now, whether they knew it or not, they were in trouble.

Clint grinned.

********

"No, I do not want a massage!" Coulson refused to be bullied into another one. "What I want is a pile of paperwork and a suit to wear. Flip-flops are for teenagers!"

The nice – too nice – lady gave him a steady look, smile still firmly in place. "Director Fury told me to inform you, when we reached this point, that it's time to start physical therapy. Your personal trainer will be here within the hour."

"Well, I hope he has tennis shoes for me!" Coulson was damn glad to hear it, and maybe he'd take back a few things he'd mumbled about Fury and his ancestors. She marched out with her head held high, and he'd apologize for his behavior later.

When later rolled around, he was so exhausted that a shower seemed like hard work. He hit the bed hard, satisfied that he was on the road to recovery and one day closer to discovering what all the people in his life were doing.

********

"Just let me keep the bow. Not any arrows, or even the string, but the bow! Come on!" Clint pointed at Lady Sif's guts. "I'm not taking it easy on you next time."

She laughed, not mean, and shoved him inside the cell that still held New York's most wanted. He leaned against the closest wall and looked the situation over while pretending to do nothing at all.

"I had thought you dead. What a disappointment."

"Life is like that." Clint was determined to take that bow with him to Earth when he went. It had been the most perfect bow he'd ever pulled. He strutted to the bathroom, cleaning up and grinning at his image in the mirror. That had been three days – give or take – of the most fun he'd had in years, and he was damn sure Thor's warriors had some respect for Earth's Hawkeye now. Especially the ones he'd sent to the infirmary. He'd been careful not to kill anyone, but Asgardians were tough and healed fast. Clint thought the Earth was damn lucky the Asgardians hadn't invaded instead of the Chitauri. Of course, maybe Odin thought he was too good to rule Earth.

Loki hadn't labored under that illusion.

More tired than he'd ever admit, Clint went out to his bed, made sure it was how he'd left it, and decided on a nap.

"If you're going to entertain Thor's warriors, you might consider trying to break away and free me next time. Once I'm free, we can escape to another realm."

"Do you believe a word you say?" Clint had considered it, but not for longer than a minute. He didn't need any more deaths on his head this year, and he knew Loki would've killed on his way out. That's what Loki did. Clint clenched his fist, memories of Coulson flitting through his mind. He forced himself to smooth his hand down his leg, leaning back against the wall, pillow tucked into the small of his back. "I still hate you."

Loki made a noncommittal noise, reclining on a chair, book in hand. "We are more alike than you think."

Clint refused to be goaded into attacking Loki again so soon, and now that he had a minute to take a deep breath, he remembered the diagnosis on his ears. "I'm going deaf again," he said, more to himself than his cellmate. "Sucks."

"I'm surprised our healers could not repair the damage." Loki looked up from his book. "Where are your tiny devices?"

"No idea." Clint shrugged, not worried about it. "It'll take a few years before I'm deaf again. I should stop whining."

"Your lives are so short that I hardly see how it matters." Loki had his eyes on his book again. "I believe I'm going to insist you at least try to free me the next time my idiot brother takes you for a romp."

"Maybe I will," Clint said, just to mess with him. Broken promises and beautiful lies were things Loki understood very well. "The armory is great. I could've lived in there happily for a few years."

Loki sighed loud enough to pass into obnoxiousness. "And yet, we are still incarcerated. I despair of you, Hawk."

That was something Clint had heard a lot of over the years. He could only hope that Coulson had never felt that way. Coulson was the last person on Earth that Clint would let down on a normal day that didn't involve alien coercion. Conversations drifted through him, and he wondered why the Avengers still had hope. Hope was for children, as Natasha would say. Or maybe they hoped Clint was dead. That would make more sense than anything. It was hard to believe they'd give him a second thought. Hill was definitely glad to have washed her hands of him, and that led him back around to Coulson, who had died knowing that Clint had orchestrated the mayhem and madness on the helicarrier.

"Hawkeye, you will serve me," Loki growled. "The shards of the tesseract in your heart will demand it."

A slow quiver dribbled down Clint's spine. He could see where his pride had played into Loki's hand, but he still couldn't spot the kernel of betrayal that Loki had exploited. "I've devoted my life to Shield."

"You were never anything more than a survivor." Loki still hadn't moved from his chair and his casual attitude. "An orphan like myself, cast among his betters, trying to scrabble out a place for yourself and always feeling as if you were on the outside, watching the world laugh at you."

"Coulson was never like that," Clint whispered, not knowing why the words slipped from his mouth. He had to stop giving Loki ammunition in the war between them.

"Neither was I to you, Loki," she said, shimmering into what looked like a solid form in the middle of their cell. "Loki, introduce me to your companion."

Clint got off the bed fast, pillow dropping to the floor. She was gorgeous, tall, and Loki was scrambling up as well.

"Mother, he is naught but a mortal."

"He is dealing with what you made of him. His few years will be lived in your shadow." She wielded the guilt with flair, and Clint liked that in a woman. "You are a compassionate man, Loki. You would do well to remember it."

"Compassionate? Are you sure you didn't mean psychotic?" Clint extended his hand, sure that this was Thor's mother and wife to Odin. "Clint Barton of Earth, and I'd really like to go home."

"Would you?" She focused on him now. "Are Earth's cells more comfortable than ours? What lies in your heart would surely see you imprisoned there."

"Mother." Loki shoved Clint's hand away and stepped in front of him. "I have missed you. Have you pled my case with Father?"

"I am Frigga of Asgard, Clint Barton, mother to Thor and Loki and wife to Odin. I disagree with my husband's ruling in your case, but I agree it is not safe to return you to Midgard as of yet."

Clint refused to peek over Loki's shoulder to see her. He did kick Loki in the calf, which produced no reaction whatsoever. He was willing to admit she had a point about the cells, but a flash of light caught his attention, and a new stack of books with an iron cup on top appeared on the table. There was now no doubt that Loki's mother was the one delivering goodies. Clint jumped on the chair and ducked around to get in front of Loki.

"Can you get my bow? It had silver tips on the ends." Clint tried not to look as crazy as he felt on the inside. "Lady Sif had it."

She smiled in a way that she probably used on small children and idiots. "No, but I did hear a few tales of the mortal Hawkeye and his exploits with the bow."

It was stupid to be overwhelmed with pride, but he was, and then it hit him. "Odin said my pride made it easier for Loki to use me."

"The tesseract power in the staff gave Loki the power to manipulate you." There was a note in her voice that soothed. "All men feel pride."

"Mother, if you are finished with the lowly mortal perhaps we could focus on my problems?"

Clint nearly laughed at Loki's bitchiness, but she did turn to him, and Clint eased away. She was right, but wrong, and he was afraid he couldn't change who he was. For years, all he'd had was his pride in his skill. It was all they'd left him. He rubbed his face, remembering that Natasha had taken the staff to the helicarrier.

"Ma'am, Frigga," Clint began and dodged the slap Loki threw at him. "They have the staff!" The idea of someone using it again made him want to vomit. "Fury has it on the helicarrier. Loki, even you have to see the danger."

Loki froze, and Frigga also looked stunned. "The mortals have the staff of power?"

"Yes," Clint growled. "You know as well as I that they can't be trusted with it!" No one could. It needed to be destroyed.

"I am reluctant to admit that I am in agreement with the mortal." Loki nodded. "I had given it no thought."

"Loki," she reprimanded him with a gentle tone. "Do not let your thirst for power blind you to the responsibilities that come with it."

"I doubt any mortal could use the staff," Loki said with a sniff.

Clint was sure Fury would find someone who could. "I bet Selvig can."

Loki tilted his head, pursing his lips, and Frigga was gone in a shimmer of light. She'd looked irritated, and Loki turned on him. "You are not worthy to even speak in her presence!"

"Pretty sure you aren't either." Clint crossed to the table where food was delivered and sat down with a thump. "One thing for sure: she'll handle it."

"And woe to the mortals who stand in her way." Loki flashed a grin, going to his new books and cup. He began to fiddle with all of it, and Clint looked away, wondering again who exactly he had to kill to get a new roommate.

********

"Who do I have to murder to get off this island?" Coulson used his blandest voice, squeezing the cell phone so hard that he heard the plastic creak.

"Tahiti is a magical place, Cheese. Relax and enjoy it. The world isn't even near ending today."

The sound of Fury at his most casual made Coulson grind his teeth. He took a deep breath through his nose. "I will go Gilligan's Island on your ass, sir."

The answering laughter didn't make Coulson any calmer. Fury replied, "How about we come pick you and your raft up instead? We're two days out, give or take an hour or two."

"I'll be waiting with bells on." Coulson stabbed the phone off, rejoicing that he'd gotten his way and suspicious that Fury had given in so easily. There was trouble. Maybe not end of the world stuff, but something was up. Coulson ignored the extended hand from the nice, young man who had handed him the phone after a tantrum of epic proportions. He'd apologize with a fruit basket when he was free from this damn island. Quickly, he punched in the number of the one man who could be trusted to know everything and gloat about it over a line that probably wasn't secure. "Jarvis, give me Stark."

The young man lunged, and Coulson took him out with one blow. Yes, something was definitely up.

********

It had taken awhile but Clint no longer bolted for the food when it appeared. Some meals he ignored and others he ate sparingly. Even pushups were losing their shine, and if he didn't get his hands on a weapon soon, he might go crazier.

Loki threw a chair against the barrier for the millionth time, and Clint felt another piece of his sanity slip away. He strolled over, scooped up one of the shattered legs and hefted it. Loki's answering grin made something twisted in Clint very happy.

There was blood on the front window, not much and not all of it Clint's, when the air glistened and Frigga appeared. With one gesture she both separated and chastised them for acting as children. Clint stomped on the urge to apologize, swiping some blood from his chin with the back of his hand. He noticed that Loki put himself between her and him, even though she was in no danger from a mere mortal such as himself.

That was love, shining for a second, and Clint hated Loki that much more for having something Clint didn't. Loki didn't even appreciate having her, spending more time than Clint cared to remember railing about the insults and injuries from his parents.

Clint would do anything to have parents, even if they hated him.

"Loki, your father has need of your unique skills. I suggest you obey his every whim and shorten this prison term by a thousand years or more." Her eyes were sharp, hard. "While I'm certain my advice will be ignored, I felt the urge to give it."

Loki's face changed to one that Clint was very familiar with, and it never boded well for mortals. Clint answered before Loki could gather himself. "Bad idea. Very bad idea. Loki is smarter than anyone else I've met on this planet, except maybe you, and you give him an inch and he'll be gone before you can blink twice!"

"I appreciate your concern, Hawkeye, and precautions will be made. While Loki is away, I have asked my husband if you could be trusted to the care of another. He has agreed."

"Hot damn," Clint whispered, hope surging that he might see his bow again.

The clomping of heavy boots reached all their ears, and she was gone in a wisp. Loki took one long step to put them face-to-face. "You have been more faithful to me than many others I could name. If I can succor your release, I will."

Shocked, Clint nodded before he remembered that Loki was the king of lies. The door opened, and Loki was gone with a smirk on his lying face. Clint shifted on his feet, and then grinned, unable to stop it.

"We could use a warrior's help on Alfheim." Lady Sif raised her eyebrows, Clint's bow in her hand. "It will be dangerous."

"Thank god." Clint didn't look back, half-afraid that Lady Sif might disappear like Frigga always did. He tried not to grab the bow, so grateful when she thrust it at him. "I like you," he said.

"You are a worthy companion." She slung the quiver from her back and pushed it at him. "I can promise you a glorious death."

"Has to be better than this worthless life."

********

Pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, Coulson counted to ten in three languages. Then he took several deep breaths. There were at least three objects within reach that could be used to kill a man, even a man as strong as Fury. The trip to the helicarrier had been conducted in stony silence, and Coulson noticed the ramp wasn't lowering after the wheels touched the deck. His blood pressure went up another notch. When he'd stepped inside, he'd had a brief moment of hope that Barton was the pilot, but the set of the shoulders had been all wrong. The engines powered down, and Coulson waited for Fury to say something that would make the urge to kill him go away. 

"If your head is going to explode, give me some warning," Fury said.

"You told them I was dead!"

"In my defense, you were!"

"Not permanently!" Coulson rubbed his face hard with his hands. "You erased me!"

"This world needs you, and if you want, you can start over. A new life." Fury didn't quite meet Coulson's eyes. "Get married. Have kids. A life. That's. Not this life." Each word seemed forced, pushed, and Fury took a heavy swallow.

Coulson could only stare at him, not sure how to parse the emotions that were boiling in him. "I hate you right now."

"Saw that one coming," Fury grumbled. "And the horror that is Tony Stark crawling up my ass with ten thousand complaints is why I hate you. You just had to call him."

"And your pain in no way makes up for all this, but it's a start."

They exchanged shrugs and eye rolls.

"Go to the Tower." Fury made it sound an awful lot like an order. "Calm Stark's tits and decide what you want to do for the next forty or so years."

Right now it was impossible to thank him for those years, but Coulson could see going to the Tower was a good idea. He smoothed his hands down his faded jeans. "I'm going to need a suit."

"But flip flops are so comfortable." Fury hit the ramp release button, trench coat swirling in the sudden influx of air.

Coulson didn't stand up or watch him go. "Still hating you."

*********

It was his sixth trip to the soul forge, and he no longer needed a hand on his chest to keep him there. Clint dozed as they did their thing, giving him weeks of healing in a matter of minutes. They often expressed their astonishment at his mortal fragility, and this time was no exception. He didn't listen, drifting along on a mere teaspoon of Asgardian mead. It was likely a full tankard of it would kill him.

"Levels of tesseract infection are dropping."

"His hearing continues to degrade."

"Mortals suffer cellular deterioration at such an advanced rate."

Clint shivered, ache working its way out of him. He swallowed, wiping his bloody hand on the remains of his tunic. "How long on my ears?" he managed to ask.

"Lady Sif speaks well of your bravery." They never answered his questions.

"Cool." Clint was pretty sure it wasn't bravery as much as a death wish. He dimly felt something twist and pop and it became much easier to breathe. The world faded in and out, memories and wishes dancing about, grief harder to bear when his head was stuffed with mead. "I miss him."

"Thor will return soon."

It was easier not to correct them, and they wouldn't care about a dead mortal anyhow. He'd been sure he was going to die on that battlefield, and he didn't understand why Lady Sif had brought him here again. Maybe he needed to try harder.

"You must die another day, friend Hawk." Lady Sif peeled him off the slab and kept him on his feet by slinging his arm over her shoulder. "Heimdall tells me your friends still ache for you, so I must keep you alive for them."

"I don't have any friends," Clint whispered. "Loki killed him, and they all blame me. It was my fault."

Lady Sif held him even closer. "Heimdall sees all."

The bed felt good beneath his tired body, and he knew he'd never convince her because she couldn't understand a world where shield brothers betrayed each other. "I miss him."

"Rest, Hawk."

*********

The urge to strangle Fury in his sleep hadn't abated a bit, not even after the security of a suit, and Coulson figured out three ways to get it done when he realized that his apartment was gone and all his belonging were now in Stark Tower.

"It all arrived earlier today," Stark said, waving his hand at the pile of boxes and containers inside what was admittedly a lovely suite of rooms.

"Where's my car?" A frisson of fear went up Coulson's spine, panic in his voice.

"In my garage. I made sure it wasn't damaged, changed the oil, buffed it to a deep shine." Stark grinned for a second, probably seeing Coulson's relief, and then it drained away. "Your apartment building was condemned, everyone thought you were dead, so your stuff was taken to the helicarrier and then here. End of story. Boring story, really."

Coulson grimaced, making a mental note to watch all the video footage and read all the reports before he slept again. "Thanks for looking after Lola." He nudged a box with his foot and sighed. "Less work to stay dead."

Stark barked a laugh. "I have people. Come upstairs. Pepper wants to say hello."

"He ruined my cards, you know." Coulson trailed after him, feeling at loose ends. He'd really been dead, and somehow seeing all his things thrown in a heap twisted the truth a little deeper. "Did everyone get out okay?"

A quick grimace on Stark's face told Coulson all he needed to know about the fate of his neighbors, not that he'd seen them often, but that didn't make a difference. "I need to help." It was the only words he could force out around the lump in his throat.

"Yeah," Stark said, ushering him into an elevator. "Take us up, Jarvis."

"My pleasure, sir, and welcome to the Tower, Agent Coulson."

"Stunned to be here." Coulson felt as if he needed to take a deep breath, but there wasn't enough oxygen in the elevator, maybe the world. He stepped out into the penthouse, flashing back to the night it had all started, and for some reason he was glad Pepper had skipped the Daisy Dukes today for business attire. She smiled, wide and honest, and hugged him. He gently patted her back and whispered the apology that Fury owed her. She wiped a tear and punched him in the arm.

"Oh my god, did I hurt you?"

"No." Coulson rubbed his arm anyway. "I know this is going to shock you, but I think I need a drink."

Stark's eyes blew wide, Pepper pulled Coulson to one of the chairs tucked by the wall, and before his ass hit leather, Stark handed him a drink. "Have you lost your composure? Is the world ending?"

"Maybe." Coulson didn't even ask what it was, taking a big slug of it and enjoying the burn. He shuddered, met Stark's eyes, and saw fear there. Coulson threw back the rest of it and handed Stark the empty glass. "Thanks. I need a complete debrief."

"We're going to need more scotch," Stark said.

Pepper patted Coulson on the hand. "Everything changed."

"It certainly did," Coulson said, not sure he wanted to know the horror that could put fear in Stark's eyes.

*********

"Show us again, Hawkeye!"

The We-Weren't-Dead party was in full swing, and Hawkeye had somehow ended up being the main attraction, standing on the table and shooting at various objects being thrown aloft with considerable force. It was something he had done a thousand times before, be the star of the show, and it had always been a source of pride in his abilities. God knew he had nothing else.

"Remarkable that he is a mortal, gifted such as he is."

"He pulls an Asgardian bow!"

The comments left a sour taste in Clint's mouth, and he wasn't even sure why. He'd heard it all before, since he was a child, and he could remember standing taller, proud as a peacock. Disgusted with emotions he hated, he tossed the bow to Lady Sif, and found himself a plate of food. Several clapped him on the back hard enough to knock him around.

"If I had such skill, I would brag the length of the kingdom!"

Lady Sif made a spot for him at the heaving table, and Clint sank down next to her with his food. She leaned close, whispering in his ear. "Ignore the children."

He laughed, grabbing a mug of the sweet juice. "Not the first time I've heard it, variations but the same."

"Your skill should give you pride, but not so much you grow obnoxious." Lady Sif wiped her fingers on her pants. "Words my father once said to me."

Clint wasn't going to wallow in all the horrible words his father had shouted at him. "Odin said my pride gave Loki a hook into my soul." He might've whispered the words, halfway hoping she wouldn't hear him.

"All men have flaws. Loki finds them and makes his way easier." She shrugged. "Live a full life, Hawkeye, not one bound in the mistakes of the past."

There were no words he could find to answer her. A full life wasn't possible now that... Clint swallowed hard, washing the food down with drink and wondering if he were brave enough to even think about his desires. At this point, it didn't matter anyway. "I'm not dead yet," he muttered, determined to try harder.

"Thor's anger at that fate is not something I want to face. He thinks highly of you."

"We all make mistakes." Clint dug into his food.

Lady Sif elbowed him hard enough to send him to the floor. She reminded him a lot of Natasha, and he felt a pang at that loss. He groaned dramatically, clutching his ribs, and crawled into his seat. She grinned, laughing, and she was beautiful. Clint loved her a little in that moment. He remembered thinking that he could make a life here in Asgard, and now he understood it for the foolishness it had been. He was mortal, gone in the blink of an eye, and not strong enough, but he wanted to go down fighting.

"Do you have a mate, Hawkeye?" she asked, leaning close again.

Words clogged Clint's throat, making it impossible to eat. He shrugged, ducking his head and almost wishing for his nice, quiet cell.

"Ah, I know grief when I see it. It is hard to lose one we love."

Clint wanted to argue, fight about it, and declare he'd never loved, but images of Coulson flicked through his mind, and he lost the battle. It didn't matter now, but he'd cared, maybe even loved a little. Not that Coulson had ever noticed. "Quit acting like a girl. Sappy stuff! I like you better when you're kicking my ass!"

Her eyes flashed. "Good. Eat. You will need the strength."

"I'll sit here and eat until you forget I'm an idiot." Clint nudged her, letting her whap him on the head hard enough to make him wince. She glared again before tossing her hair and smirking.

"All men are idiots."

"We really are." Clint ate without rushing, listening to the people around him, keeping an eye out for trouble. When Asgardians started fighting, he usually found a perch to watch and laugh. Lady Sif turned, looking behind them, and he saw her face the instant she saw Thor.

"Oh," Clint said, not loud. He knew love when he saw it. The love on her face drained away, replaced with hopeless resignation, and Clint put a trembling hand on her thigh to comfort her. He knew exactly how she felt, and it sucked.

"Hawkeye! Lady Sif!" Thor strode to their table. "You are triumphant!"

"And alive," Clint muttered, sure he sounded disappointed. "Don't worry. She's escorting me back to my cell after the party."

"I was not concerned," Thor said, seeming to mean it.

"Sit, Thor. Join us," Lady Sif said, and Clint admired her ability to say it without sounding pathetic.

"I must speak with my father first," Thor said, not seeing her desire. Clint winced for her.

"He went off with Loki," Clint said to fill the awkward silence. "I haven't heard if they returned."

Thor went through a range of emotions very quickly before storming (Clint heard thunder) away without another word. Lady Sif sighed loud enough to be heard over the party noise. "No good will come of that."

"I guess Odin doesn't tell Thor everything." Clint figured he should stay out of the family drama. While he wouldn't mind dying, he had no desire to be struck by a random lightning bolt. With his bad luck, he'd live through it.

Lady Sif nudged him with her shoulder. "You are not returning to that cell. I will not hear of it."

Natasha had taught him a long time ago not to argue with a lady who could kill him so he smiled and shoved his mouth full of food. He'd eat and drink until he couldn't hold any more and then maybe pass out under the table.

******** 

Pacing didn't help, and neither did yelling at Stark and Fury, followed by Natasha and Captain America. They were upset as well, and he was glad they didn't take his tirade personally, but god damn it, he was angry at them all.

Fury had refused to take Coulson's call, but Stark had promised to fly up to the helicarrier and blast it from the sky in the morning. It seemed the least he could do, and Fury deserved it.

"Agent Coulson? Honestly? You should sit down and take deep breaths. If you collapse, I'm going to feel guilty forever," the captain said.

Screaming profanity at his childhood hero was off the table, but Coulson was miles from sitting. "Well? What the absolute fuck are we going to do? What have you done? Did you try anything?"

"For the fourth time, Coulson." Natasha looked calm, damn her. "We have to trust Thor to take care of him."

"Thor? The guy who lit Stark up like a Christmas tree and tried to drive Captain America into the ground like a tent peg?" Coulson raged. "The guy who tried to buy a cat big enough to ride and used Mjolnir to toast an entire crate of pop tarts?"

"Yeah, that guy," Stark said. He handed everyone another drink, and they all gulped it. Coulson turned from them in disgust, stalking out to the far end of the landing pad to glare at the ruins of Manhattan. He was so pissed off that he wasn't angry anymore. It was coalescing into an emotion that he had never felt before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Barton – Clint – had been convinced he was going to prison for his part in the Loki debacle, and no one had even tried to talk him down. They'd done nothing, and now he was gone, having run as far as humanly possible to avoid imprisonment. Leave it to Clint to find a way to leave the damn planet.

Pack of idiots, and they were beyond stupid if they thought he was going to sit around on his hands and wait for Thor to hand deliver Clint back to them. That would never happen. Hell, Clint could be on some other planet by now. He wasn't a man to be caged, not for long. He'd kill himself first.

"Look, Agent, please don't kill me with a shoelace or something, but what else can we do but wait?" Stark was several feet behind Coulson, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Even Jane has no idea when Thor will return."

"No." Coulson knew one thing. "I've never left an agent behind in my life, and I don't intend to start now. The way I see it, we have two problems."

"Is that all?" Stark muttered.

"Yes, and you, Tony Stark, are going to help me with both of them or I will raze your world to the ground and piss on the ashes." Coulson narrowed his eyes, sure now of the path he would follow.

Stark squared his shoulders. "You don't have to be an asshole about it."

"Yeah, I do, or I'm going to murder you all." Coulson tugged his cuffs down, meaning every word of it with every fiber of his being.

"Okay, then, I guess it's fine." Stark nodded. "Let's get to work."

"Let's."

********

"Father, he has proven his worth!"

Still more than a little hungover, Clint slumped down on the bottom step and rubbed his face with his hands. Somehow, he'd ended up back in the damn throne room and Odin looked no more likely to be reasonable today as any other.

"He is mortal!"

"He is a warrior! And my friend!" Thor raged right back at him, and it'd been going on for long enough that Clint wished he had hearing aids so he could take them out.

"You are blinded by sentimentality!"

"Oh, god, just shoot me." Clint stretched out on his back, noticing one of his guards was trying not to laugh. "One of you, you gods, really, have some mercy on my poor head."

"You are blinded by your anger towards Loki. He served you well in retrieving the staff of power!"

Clint stored that information away for later use. He was also glad to hear it. The mental image of Fury wielding that thing gave Clint nightmares.

"His thirst for my throne drives him. Not loyalty!"

"Hey, I'm just a mortal and all, but shouldn't a prince want the throne?" Clint couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut today. "You raised him to want it. Now you're mad about it?"

Silence, blessed silence, broke out in the hall, and Clint hoped it lasted long enough for him to get a nap. He needed one. Asgardian parties went on for days, only the strong survived them, and Clint was feeling weak from it.

"Father, please hear my words." Thor spoke in a soft tone now.

"Hawkeye, come to me that I may gaze upon you," Odin commanded.

With a grunt, Clint hauled himself up and trudged up the stairs. He yawned, cracked his neck, and slouched. "You were right about the pride thing." He was man enough to own it.

Odin didn't reply, hand resting on his scepter and no emotion on his face. He could've been carved from stone. Clint had observed a king or two in his time at Shield, and none of them held a candle to this one. Odin was the All-Father, and while he was a cranky old shit, Clint would admit that the guy had earned respect.

Under the All-Father's gaze, Clint bent one knee and lowered his head. "I accept your judgment, even if I think you're mean as hell."

Thor might've gasped, and one of the guards did. Another second ticked away, and with no warning, Odin began to laugh. He laughed deeply, the echoes would reach the other halls. Before the laughter died away, the clunk of armored footsteps reached Clint's ears. He eased to his feet, in case he needed to run, and spotted Heimdall, making his way towards them.

"My king, I am here on a matter of some confusion on my part."

Clint blinked and ran through that sentence again. It still didn't make any sense.

Odin nodded. "Speak, Heimdall."

******** 

"Agent, I hate to say it, but you've lost your mind," Stark said.

"Shut up!" Coulson had forced Stark to bring him to New Mexico, and damn it, it would work. He knew it. "Did I say that aloud?"

"You did." Stark raised his faceplate and laughed. "Don't worry, no one will believe me."

Coulson took the biggest breath of his life and started again. He could do this. He would succeed. Failure wasn't an option.

********

Fainting in front of a bunch of gods wasn't Clint's finest moment. The fact that no one helped revive him made him hope that they hadn't noticed in the confusion. Groggily, he got to his feet, trying to think. Dots swam in front of his eyes.

"—no choice, Father. It is time to bend to reason."

"Be careful, my son," Odin growled.

Heimdall tromped into Clint's airspace and stared down at him, strange eyes wide. Clint shivered, feeling violated even though he wasn't being touched.

"The Son of Coul will take responsibility, and this mortal has proven his worth. Loki's crimes are his own," Heimdall intoned.

Clint stuffed his fist into his back to straighten up and tried to look worthy of going home. He was pretty sure he didn't pull it off from the scowl on Odin's face. He'd think about Heimdall's words later when he was alone.

"Let him be released into the care of the Son of Coul, who had proven his loyalty." Odin got to his feet and slammed his staff into the stone. "I am done with this." He strode away, trailed by bodyguards. 

"He's really alive?" Clint whispered, knowing Heimdall wouldn't lie but still unable to believe. "Not dead?"

"His spirit never passed, though his body was lifeless," Heimdall said.

A lot of things that didn't seem possible suddenly seemed real, and it was scary as hell. Coulson would probably be angry, probably blame Clint for everything. Clint might still end up in prison, one with crappy food. He could feel his hands shaking, and this decision might turn out as bad as his last one, except that it hadn't been awful here on Asgard.

"Hawkeye, you do wish to return to Midgard?" Thor asked.

This choice was a bigger leap than the one that had gotten him here, but it was easier to make. If Coulson was willing to yell at gods to get him back, Clint was willing to go see why, and really, he'd do anything to see Coulson again. "Yes, but let's go before I change my mind!"

Thor laughed. "I will escort you."

"Can I take the bow? Is Loki back in the dungeon? It was nice, by the way. Best cell I ever stayed in." Clint grinned, unable to tromp down the tiny bit of hope in his heart. Thor clapped him on the back, Lady Sif appeared from around a corner, and Clint had an escort by the time he trekked the distance to the rainbow bridge. He stopped, his eyes full of colors. "You fixed it."

"Like most broken things, it required time and patience." Heimdall never slowed down. "Let us make haste."

"Before Odin decides to toss me back in with Loki."

********

"Take a break, Agent. Since it's obviously not working."

Coulson slicked his hand back through his hair, hearing the frustration in Stark's voice and feeling it as well. The sun was almost up, and even though it'd been desert cold last night, he was sweating. He only had one word for him. "No." Hope had bled into frustration over the hours, standing in a barren land, talking to gods who most likely didn't care, and now all he felt was a keen anger. Raising his fist to the sky, he screamed, "Heimdall, do you hear me?"

"Pretty sure people in California heard you," Stark muttered.

The sky cracked open, tossing Coulson to the dirt, light and sound overwhelming his senses. He blinked and stared, hating to jinx it by getting to his feet.

Heimdall extended his hand. "I hear you, Son of Coul. The one known as Hawkeye is entrusted to your care by order of Odin All-Father. Hawkeye is still infected with the blight of the tesseract, but the All-Father is confident in your ability to keep your world from harm at his hands."

Coulson was pretty sure he squeaked when Heimdall hauled him up to his feet. "Really?" He knew he sounded stupid, but he caught sight of the figure standing behind Heimdall, looking insecure, even scared, and Coulson found his courage. "You had no right to keep him."

"So you said, over and over again." Heimdall might've smile – a tiny bit. "Hawkeye, step forward."

"I'm here." Clint looked like an Asgard warrior, leather and metal clothes, but his eyes were normal. He didn't meet Coulson's eyes, glancing all around him. Coulson had to swallow hard, not sure what to say now that he'd gotten what he wanted.

"A gift for your service, Hawkeye." Heimdall made an elaborate gesture and pulled a bow from... somewhere.

Clint's hand shook as he took it, but his voice was strong. "Tell everyone thanks, and tell," he paused and then plowed on, "tell Loki to listen to his mom."

"It shall be done." Heimdall thrust his sword into the ground. "Go."

Just to be on the safe side, Coulson yanked him a good distance away, Iron Man stepping to their side. The ground roared, the air split asunder, and Heimdall was gone in a flash of tearing light.

"That is almost as cool as I am," Stark said in a hushed tone.

"Way cooler," Coulson said. He still had his hand on Clint's forearm, and he had no intention of removing it. "You okay, Barton?"

"Better than usual." Clint eased closer, shuffling his feet. "You didn't quit, huh?"

"There's a few lives left in this old cat." Coulson couldn't take his eyes off him. Clint looked good, better than any man had a right to after traveling between worlds. "Hey, can you stick around this planet for awhile?"

"Maybe. Pretty sure Fury still has a jail cell with my name on it." Clint shrugged, looking unconcerned.

"And you still came back?" Coulson had to know why, right now.

"You were screaming your head off, and Heimdall was annoyed, and Odin All-Father washed his hands of me. Anyway, we won the war on Alfheim." Clint ducked his head, somehow bringing himself even closer. The sun peeked over the horizon, backlighting him, making him shine. "So here I am. Did you need something?"

A true grin stole over Coulson's face, and he licked his lower lip, knowing that this was the moment he'd waited years for, and he wasn't going to let it pass. "You're mine, Clint. Even Odin isn't going to stand in the way of that."

Stark made a noise that might've been gagging, and neither of them spared him a glance.

"Well, now that you're not dead, you have a point." Clint lifted the bow, trapping Coulson between it and his chest. "I did get a lovely souvenir."

"You still should've been with me." Coulson put some heat behind that. "Next time don't be so quick to call me dead."

"Next time, don't die." Clint kissed him, light and easy. "Deal?"

"Deal." Coulson hugged him close. "We have a lot to debrief."

Neither of them turned when Iron Man lifted off, zooming away without a word. Clint laughed. "I thought he'd never leave."

"He's like that." Coulson rested his forehead against Clint's. "I burned you."

Eyebrows up in surprise, Clint waited for the rest of it.

"And then Stark arranged for your death and a funeral. You'd have loved it. Captain America got teary-eyed."

"Damn it, I miss all the fun." Clint didn't sound even a tiny bit upset. "Reassure me that Natasha's not angry."

"She threw a wake that will live on in legend at Shield Headquarters for years to come." Coulson tightened his hands into the leather. "So the jail thing was canceled."

Clint sighed. "I missed you, but I was glad you were dead because I knew you'd hate me for what I helped Loki do. Screwed up, huh?"

Coulson wasn't shocked to hear it. No one knew about Clint's guilty conscience more than him. "I kept thinking you'd show up. Fury lied and lied." He wasn't that angry about it any longer. "He wasn't invited to your funeral."

"I bet he crashed it." Clint rolled his eyes. He kissed Coulson six or seven more times. "Iron Man was our ride, wasn't he?"

"Someone'll turn up." Coulson slipped his hand around Clint's neck, giving him a shake. Clint stayed tucked close, both of them unconcerned that the world kept spinning.

********

It took awhile to convince Phil – it was Phil now – that Clint wasn't angry about being burned, officially dead, having left Shield far behind. Clint waited until they were alone in Avenger's Tower, both full from breakfast, dressed in casual clothes. There were no superheroes underfoot, and only after a double check did he drag Phil down into a convenient sofa. It was so deep and plush that they'd have to roll out.

"Anyone could walk in on us," Phil said, hands groping Clint everywhere, actions speaking louder than words.

"Jarvis," Clint said, "give us some privacy." He tugged away from a kiss. "Loki is the God of Lies."

"I hate that guy," Phil said, eyes wide now, breath still coming quick, but his hands held Clint a little tighter.

"Me too." Clint struggled to find the right words. "Odin told me that I was an easy catch for Loki because I wanted to betray Shield." He clapped his hand over Phil's mouth to stop the protest. "Loki lied about everything, but he once said that I saw Shield as an escape, somewhere that I wouldn't have chosen on my own, among people who I never felt like I fit in with." He took a deep breath and trailed his hand down off Phil's frowning mouth. "He was right. I always thought I had to fight for every inch, every look of approval, and perform flawlessly to get half the recognition other guys got by showing up. I don't miss it."

Phil drew away enough to stare down at him. "I never did that to you."

"I know." Clint knew it so well. "So thanks, thanks for getting rid of Hawkeye."

"I liked him." Phil kissed him until they were both groaning and squirming. "Anyway, there's a young lady who's taken your namesake. She's quite a shot."

"She's welcome to it." Clint thought maybe, just maybe, he'd learned how to be humble. Maybe. Phil ran his hand up and tugged at Clint's jeans. Clint wiggled them down fast enough to make him happy. Phil stroked Clint's cock from root to slit, wrenching a groan from Clint's throat. Clint laughed into it. "I like my new call sign better."

"Long Bow is not a reference to your dick." Phil used his very clever hands to bring Clint to brink and back him off three times before taking pity on him. Clint came all over himself, hunching a little at the sensitivity and determined to wipe that smug look off Phil's face. With a twist, Clint rolled off the sofa and thumped between Phil's spread knees. Phil protested, "Not a good idea. Not at all."

"You like my bad ideas." Clint didn't waste time with the belt, working the zipper down and pulling Phil's cock through the hole of the conservative boxers. "One of these days, I'll get you in a thong."

Whatever Phil was going to say was lost in a huge gasp as Clint sucked him to his balls in one move. Tongue, mouth, gentle fingers, Clint worked at it with an eye toward Phil's face to see and hear all the sounds of pleasure. Some day in the future, he wouldn't be able to hear, and he wanted a memory track to go with the expressions. For now, it was all good, and he sucked hard enough to make Phil's eyes roll back as he came with a shout.

Phil being a noisy lover was the best thing ever. Clint licked until Phil pushed him by the forehead. "Stop! Stop!"

They laughed together, and Clint moved up, rolling them both deep into the disgustingly comfortable sofa. It took a minute to find places for arms and legs, kissing during the process, and they both let their eyes shut.

Someone with a big mouth and the ability to make Jarvis over-ride doors spread a blanket over them. Clint snuggled deeper. "Thanks for coming to get me," he whispered.

"Thanks for trusting me enough to come home."

*******

the end

**Author's Note:**

> My first Avenger fic, so my apologies for mistakes. They are my own. If you have any suggestions for tags, feel free to yell at me. All the usual disclaimers apply.
> 
> Follow me at http://www.tumblr.com/blog/blackchaps if'n ya want. No pressure!


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